Vultures by Chinua Achebe

Vultures

In the greyness 

and drizzle of one despondent 

dawn unstirred by harbingers 

of sunbreak a vulture 

perching high on broken 

bones of a dead tree 

nestled close to his 

mate his smooth 

bashed-in head, a pebble 

on a stem rooted in 

a dump of gross 

feathers, inclined affectionately 

to hers. Yesterday they picked 

the eyes of a swollen 

corpse in a water-logged 

trench and ate the 

things in its bowel. Full 

gorged they chose their roost 

keeping the hollowed remnant 

in easy range of cold 

telescopic eyes... 

Strange 

indeed how love in other 

ways so particular 

will pick a corner 

in that charnel-house 

tidy it and coil up there, perhaps 

even fall asleep - her face 

turned to the wall! 

...Thus the Commandant at Belsen 

Camp going home for 

the day with fumes of 

human roast clinging 

rebelliously to his hairy 

nostrils will stop 

at the wayside sweet-shop 

and pick up a chocolate 

for his tender offspring 

waiting at home for Daddy's 

return... 

Praise bounteous 

providence if you will 

that grants even an ogre 

a tiny glow-worm 

tenderness encapsulated 

in icy caverns of a cruel 

heart or else despair 

for in the very germ 

of that kindred love is 

lodged the perpetuity 

of evil.